


Conference

by Tah the Trickster (TahTheTrickster)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Microfics, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TahTheTrickster/pseuds/Tah%20the%20Trickster
Summary: 12 days of prompts filled with microfics courtesy of the moircy discord





	1. Prompt: “Morning Coffee”

Moira was starting to wonder if she should’ve even bothered getting out of bed this morning with the way the irritations were starting to pile up. The abhorrent line in the convention center’s coffee shop was irksome enough to make her twitch.

But she might have to actually throttle her protégée if she didn’t stop fussing over herself.

“Stop _fidgeting_ , Ziegler,” Moira sighed as Angela plucked anxiously at an imaginary bit of lint on her jacket sleeve. Angela started and straightened up, tugging at her tie again. “Oh for— _stop it,_ what’s gotten into you?” Moira demanded, batting Angela’s nervous hand away. “You’ve given plenty of research presentations before. I’ve attended some of them myself.”

Angela had the decency to blush at the critical look Moira fixed her with. “For professors or scholars,” she muttered at last, wilting slightly under Moira’s unflinching stare. “Not... _investors._ ”

Moira raised a brow. “It makes that much a difference to you?”

Her blush worsened. “My research only represented _me_ ,” Angela protested, “all the way up to my position as head of surgery. But now I’m supposed to be representing all of _Overwatch?_ That’s... a tall order to fill. How can I—“

“ _Please,_ ” Moira interrupted with a snort, turning once again to glower at the line before them. “If we didn’t have utmost faith that you would be a positive representation of the organization, you would not be _involved_ with Overwatch _at all._ We hardly drew your name from a bloody _hat,_ Ziegler. You were handpicked by me like the rest of the medical division. Stop working yourself up before you have reason to.”

Moira could nearly hear the way Angela silently worked her jaw in shock, struggling to form words behind her. “You—?”

“I do not like repeating myself,” Moira deadpanned, shooting a warning look over her shoulder. If Angela had anything else to say, it would have to wait until after Moira finally got her bloody caffeine. “Earl Grey, large,” she ordered, flashing her card. “And a double-shot Americano.”

She didn’t miss the way Angela’s head shot up to stare at her. Moira hated that she could feel her ears going red.

“What _now?_ ” she finally huffed, turning to face Angela entirely. “Is that not how you take your coffee?” She was pretty damn sure it was. Even if it wasn’t, she didn’t need to be ungrateful.

She wasn’t expecting the slow, mischievous smile creeping onto Angela’s face.

“You took the time to memorize my coffee order?” Angela asked, a hint of a laugh to her words.

Moira despised that she could feel her blush spreading immediately into her cheeks.

She shoved the coffee into Angela’s hands and spun on her heel, nearly forgetting to grab her own cup in the process. “You talk too much, Ziegler.”


	2. Prompt: “Warmth”

Moira glanced up only briefly from her holopad when Angela stepped out of the hotel shower, still toweling her hair dry. She noted her suddenly-dry mouth at the realization that evidently Angela was planning on sleeping in little more than shorts and a camisole. How distracting.

She was halfway through a fascinating article on domesticated lagomorph care when she finally registered that Angela was standing on the opposite side of the bed, looking reluctant.

Moira sighed and put her holo down. “ _What_ , Ziegler? Am I taking up your side of the bed or something?”

Angela’s cheeks flushed sharply, and an irked noise caught in her throat. “No, I—!” She broke off with a huff and looked away.

“So what, then? Is it the sharing a bed thing?” Moira quirked a brow and drummed her nails on her holo. “We’re both adults.”

She could practically see Angela fuming. It was so easy to get under her skin. “We are,” Angela agreed through gritted teeth.

“We’ve been in far more compromising situations,” Moira added.

Angela’s jaw twitched. “We have.”

Moira rolled her eyes and chucked a nearby pillow at her protégée. “So go to bloody _sleep_ , Ziegler,” she ordered. “You’ve another presentation in the morning; you need the rest.”

Angela growled in frustration, but threw the pillow down and climbed into the bed, pointedly facing away from her. Moira frowned without meaning to and picked up her holo once more, intent on finishing the article she was reading as Angela’s breath slowed and evened out.

Moira didn’t realize she’d lost track of time till the sudden shift of the bed next to her caught her attention a short hour later.

Angela wasn’t yet deeply entrenched in REM sleep, that much was obvious. Less expected, though, was the sight of her younger colleague now actually facing her—still fast asleep, certainly, but now on her back, head tipped to the side to face her.

Moira felt her mouth go dry for the second time that night.

It was rare that Moira got to see any expression on Angela’s face that was neither concentration nor outrage, but now her soft, fair face was smoothed into relaxed neutrality, lips parted just slightly as she slept. Her damp blonde curls were splayed about her head on the pillow, nearly iridescent gold in the low light of the hotel room.

She’d kicked off her blankets, additionally, her camisole’s hem riding up to expose her hips and stomach, one arm thrown haphazardly over the smooth, unmarked flesh, and Moira realized with a start that she _really_ wanted to know what kind of sounds she’d get from pressing her lips to the curve of Angela’s hipbone.

Moira wrenched her gaze away instantly, feeling suddenly uncomfortably warm herself.

_Ha_. Reminding Angela that they were both adults, and then _she_ was the one feeling like a bloody hormonal teenager. _Situational irony_ , she recalled faintly from her university literature courses.

“Maybe you’re the one getting under _my_ skin, _cushlamachree_ ,” Moira sighed, putting her holo to the side to lie down and sleep.

Less than a minute later, a hissed “ _oh fuck’s sake_ ” had a furiously-blushing Moira throwing her own covers off in a huff, shoving them to the foot of the bed. How she was expected to sleep in these too-bloody-warm conditions was beyond her.


End file.
